


Her Soul Cried

by etoilecourageuse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Incest, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 23:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1836427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/etoilecourageuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Druella Rosier wanted nothing more than to forget that she had ever met a man named Cygnus Black, and yet he seemed to be the escape she so desperately, foolishly longed for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Soul Cried

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** I saw this prompt and immediately fell in love with it - and in the end this whole fic got away with me! Thank you so much to the mods for hosting this fest and especially for your patience, and of course to K. for the wonderful beta work as always and to C. for all your support and cheerleading and for suffering with me all the way through this piece!  <3

_It was supposed to be a day she’d never forget. It was supposed to be a day full of joy and laughter; it was supposed to be the happiest day of her life._

_Happy… When had she last been happy?_

_Druella Rosier looked down on herself, straightening the last crease in her black lace gown with her hands, barely able to hide the shaking any longer. If her father could see her now, she thought, how would he smile._

***

She had never dreamed of weddings like so many other girls, had never imagined herself lying blissfully in her husband’s arms, happier than ever before, happier than any other woman in this world. She had never had the desire to marry, secretly wished to remain unwed, despite the awareness that when she came of age she would have no other choice. It was her duty to bring honour to her family’s name and she wouldn’t disgrace herself by following her own foolish desires.

The day would come when she’d meet the man who was to become her husband, she knew, would come sooner than she liked. And yet it took her breath away as her father raised his voice one night, speaking out the words she had secretly dreaded more than anything else. 

“His name is Cygnus Black,” he said, and it felt as though his voice were to resound within her ears forever. “I’ve invited him to join us for dinner tomorrow, and I need you to leave behind a decent impression in order to fulfil the contract to his satisfaction. Do you understand?”

Contract. Satisfaction. 

“Yes, Father,” Druella murmured, staring down at her plate, not raising her head even as she spoke. She knew better than to look into his eyes at this moment. Knew better than to defy him. 

Perhaps it was her chance to break away, she thought, and then she almost laughed at her own folly. Break away?… Escape?… Escape from her father? Impossible. Ridiculous. It had been her mother’s untimely death that allowed her to escape, and death alone would free Druella as well. How much she missed her. How much she needed her…

Cygnus Black. The name of Black was familiar to her, of course it was, and yet it seemed so strange. Had they met before? Had they gone to school together, unaware of one another? Had they slept within the same castle’s walls for so many years and never spoken? Had their paths crossed once before? 

“May I be excused?” she asked quietly. She hadn’t touched her meal, nauseous at the mere thought of eating. To her surprise, Father nodded, dismissively waving his hand. If only he would leave her alone that night, Druella prayed in silence as she made her exit, and for the first time she was heard. Yet, she didn’t find any sleep until long after dawn had broken.

*

Cygnus Black was a man of forty, tall and muscular, his dark blond hair cut short and windswept. There was something serious about his face as he mutely looked her over, his hard, ice blue eyes resting on her in a way that couldn’t possibly disgust her any more. As though she were a piece of meat…

He frightened her, frightened her more than she would ever dare to admit, and yet she held his gaze, knew that her father would kill her if she didn’t please him. Forty… Forty years of age… Forty… 

They ate in silence. It seemed as though he was never going to speak when finally he reached out his arm to take her hand into his, almost gently. 

“How old are you, child?” he asked her, the deep, raucous sound of his voice driving a shiver down her spine. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he know everything about her? Hadn’t Father long ago told him whatever he had desired to learn? 

“Eighteen,” she replied, and for a moment she saw the expression in his eyes change. He let go of her, quietly clearing his throat, and soon the silence returned to the room. Druella could feel the gazes of four eyes burning on her skin, dared not look down, dared not breathe. If she became his wife, what would he… Her father, too, had once been gentle to her mother, had once been gentle to her, touching her so softly like Black had touched her now, yet how soon had his grip around her hand tightened, how soon had… 

“Would you excuse us for a moment, Druella?” Black said after a while, interrupting her thoughts. It felt strange to hear him speak out her name, strange and yet in a way familiar. “I’d like to speak to your father alone, if you please.”

Gladly, Druella rose from her chair, and gladly, she would follow his request. She wanted nothing more than to rush upstairs and bar her room’s door behind her back, not to let anyone in until the morrow. She wanted nothing more than to forget that she had ever met a man named Cygnus Black, and yet an invisible power seemed to force her to stay, to secretly listen. 

“Monsieur Rosier, I beg your pardon,” she could hear Black say, quietly as though he knew, as though he was very well aware of her presence. “But I will have to declare our contract invalid. Do not get me wrong, I-“

Her father’s roaring voice interrupted his words. For a moment Druella closed her eyes, praying the alcohol had not yet made an impact on his state of mind, praying he wouldn’t lose his composure, wouldn’t lose himself. 

“Didn’t she please you?” His question stung in Druella’s chest like a dagger’s blade. How he talked of her… As though she were nothing but an object, a puppet, as though he were to sell her… As though she meant nothing to him, nothing at all. Wasn’t she his daughter? “I might remind you that you agreed to-“ 

“Agreed to marry your daughter, indeed. But Druella is a girl! Eighteen years old – I could be her father! Have you seen the fear in her eyes? She’s afraid, afraid of this entire situation and afraid of me. I by no means intend to offend you, but I cannot marry a frightened child.”

“So it is decided then?” asked her father, quietly now, and strangely hoarse. 

It was silence that provided the answer. For a moment, it felt as though Druella’s heart had ceased to beat. Black’s rejection meant her death, she knew, her father would kill her for what he blamed her for, and yet she felt a strange relief flaring up inside of her. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and almost allowing herself to smile, when once more her father raised his voice, still husky as though he were desperate to contain himself in order not to lose face. 

“Would there be anything to cause you to reconsider? Another meeting perhaps, on a different day, under different circumstances? She’s always been quiet, but she isn’t afraid of you, knows her duty… If you could grant her another chance, I am sure that she will open up to you!”

“I do not think that I-“

“She will be honoured to marry you, Mr Black! And I will be honoured to know our families connected to all eternity by such a bond.”

“Honoured?” Black’s laugh caused her to gasp, to wince in fright… If he were to reconsider, if he were to marry her, to truly marry her… No. No, please, no! What would he do to her once she was his? What… 

“Spare me your talk of honour, Monsieur Rosier,” he said as harshly as her father would speak to her when, like so many times before, alcohol had taken possession of his mind and body. “And do not take me for a fool. Isn’t all this just a farce? I know very well that you are walking on the edge of poverty; you take no interest in what you call honour, and even less so in your daughter, hence you cannot even bear to speak out her name. It is my wealth that you are longing for, because I am your last chance to save you from financial ruin.”

Silence. Again, silence, no words of contradiction. Poverty… Was it true then; was he to sell her only to save himself? Poverty… Financial ruin… 

“For Druella’s sake, I consent to one more meeting; Merlin knows what you would do to the poor child if I didn’t. One more meeting upon the condition that we will be left alone.”

No. Please… No… 

“Mr Black, with all due respect, I cannot allow this to… Very well.”

No… Druella bit her tongue in order to suppress a scream. For a moment, she was paralysed, unable to move even if she wanted to, her back still pressed against the wall. She couldn’t marry him, not him, not this man… The expression in his eyes, the tone of his voice… How much he frightened her… He had been nothing but gentle to her, yet his eyes… They reminded her so much of her father’s… 

“I will ensure that my daughter pleases you more during your next meeting, I…”

“Ensure that she will find sleep without nightmares tonight. And now I will hear no more of this matter; my late wife, may she rest in peace, would cover her eyes in shame if she were able to overhear our conversation. She wouldn’t tolerate such behaviour, and neither will I. I shall take my leave, if you excuse me, Monsieur Rosier. And you would do well to look after your daughter.”

The door opened, and at last Druella regained control over her movement. She started to run, dashing up the stairs before Father or Black could notice her, desperately barring the door to her room, despite the awareness that he would find a way to intrude, despite the awareness that before long he would come to punish her.

*

His breath smelled of wine and smoke, even more than usual. It was late and she had nearly fallen asleep in the foolish belief that he would spare her, and yet he’d come, quietly, as though to ensure that they wouldn’t be heard.

As if anyone would ever hear. As if anyone would ever notice. 

How many times had Druella forbidden herself to scream, to show any kind of weakness? How many times had she sworn herself to silently endure whatever he did until he grew tired of her, and not to beg, never to beg? 

“How dare you,” her father hissed into her ear, putting both his hands against her throat, for a moment taking her breath away. “Didn’t I tell you to please him, didn’t I tell you to at least leave behind a decent impression?”

“Father…”

“Hold your tongue!” he bellowed, the sound of his voice still echoing within her room’s walls minutes later. “Don’t speak to me, don’t look at me! You can call yourself lucky that he allowed negotiation, lucky that he did not reject you, not yet, due to my efforts. How dare you show him your fear…”

“He frightens me, Father… Please, I… I can’t…”

She could hardly believe her own words, struggled for air as the firm pressure on her mouth cut off her voice, cut off her breath. Father’s eyes glistened dangerously in the darkness; if he were to suffocate her, if he were to choke her to death, it wouldn’t take longer than a minute, that she knew. But Alain Rosier wasn’t fool enough to put her life to an end so easily, wouldn’t allow her to die so quickly, not before he’d made her suffer for his pleasure, devouring her agony. 

If only she could break free… If only she could follow Mother into the grave, if only she could escape… 

“He is supposed to frighten you,” Father breathed now, interrupting her thoughts. Druella could almost see him smile; smile his cold and cruel smile. “He is supposed to disgust you… To hurt you, like you deserve… You will marry him, but even then you will be mine. Even when you call him your husband and share his bed, I want you to think of me, to long for my touch, so gentle compared to his… I want you to remember that you are mine, and mine alone. Always.”

That night, she was no longer able to hold back her screams.

*

She could hear his voice already, could clearly hear him speak to her father in the drawing room, as though he were standing right in front of her. Her hands were trembling beyond her control as she put them both against her ears, firmly as though only now were she able to find the silence she so desperately longed for.

Black had returned. Of course he had returned, and before long they would be alone. Druella dreaded the thought, yet she knew that Father would never lose sight of them, knew that he would find his own way to control her, even then. 

They were still talking. Druella couldn’t understand their words, and yet she knew everything, everything and nothing. 

_You’re mine._

Father’s voice still resounded within her ears, still caused her entire body to tremble with fear. Perhaps it was true, she thought. Perhaps she was his, truly, perhaps she would always be his, forever his puppet, and forever his property. Perhaps she would never be free… 

“Harden your heart, Druella,” she whispered to herself, over and over again until only her own voice was heard in her room. “Don’t allow yourself to feel… Harden your heart and hide your weakness…” 

She wasn’t a puppet. Wasn’t a puppet, wasn’t her father’s property, and wouldn’t be Black’s. She wouldn’t allow him to control her, to break her, to… 

As if she hadn’t long been broken. As if she were still able to tell herself that she had a chance to be free and nobody’s property, hers and hers alone, and to believe it. As if the intoxication hadn’t loosened her father’s tongue enough to speak the truth that night. 

Blood. Honour. Names. All her life, only blood had mattered, only honour had controlled her thoughts. She was to bring honour to her family, never to shame their name with foolish actions or decisions. She was to marry a man worthy to be married, was to bear him children and to raise them never to forget about what it meant to be of pure blood, never to forget about what they called tradition. 

Honour… Druella sometimes despised the word, sometimes despised the thought of duty and wanted nothing more than to escape, to escape from everything, even from herself. 

But what would she do, if she were to truly run away? Where would she go, who would still look at her, who would help a traitor? Traitor… 

She wouldn’t escape. Of course she wouldn’t, wouldn’t betray her family, wouldn’t sully her mother’s name, not after everything she had gone through until a cruel fever had taken her from this world. She wouldn’t disgrace her, not like this. 

And yet, she’d rather starve herself to death than marry Cygnus Black. Than to become a wife, forced to obey, forced to live in fear like once her mother. How weak she was. How afraid. 

No. No! She wasn’t weak, had never been weak, never! She wasn’t weak… But she could no longer hide her fear, even if she wanted to, even if her father had made her swear to it, even if he’d kill her should he notice.

The door to her room flung open, interrupting her thoughts. Druella struggled to suppress a wince, forced herself to look up and right into Father’s eyes. She held her breath in order not to be forced to inhale the smell of alcohol that surrounded him. Noon was still an hour away and yet she could picture the empty wine bottles, hidden deep within the walls of his bedroom. One day he would drink himself to death, she knew. And then… Then, she would be free. But would she really be? 

He didn’t speak a word, only harshly pushed her out of the door, gesturing her to meet Black in the entrance hall, and to smile. But Druella seemed to have forgotten how to smile. Even the sight of Black took her breath away, but yet she forced herself not to lose her composure as she spoke out quiet words of welcome. She knew she couldn’t give in to her weakness, knew she couldn’t allow herself to feel.

*

He had barely talked to her. Had barely looked at her, and yet his hard gaze seemed to burn her skin, his voice echoing within her ears over and over again. Whenever he attempted to touch her hand, she pulled away, fighting the foolish desire to allow it to happen. What was it that scared her so much about him, she asked herself, what was it he did to her when in fact he did nothing at all? She wondered if she was wrong about him. He had not done anything to her, had not hurt her, yet the fear still lingered. And then she realised.

It was his presence. His mere presence that filled her with this terrible feeling of unease… 

Black had taken her out for lunch, into a small restaurant in London, far away from anything familiar to her. She was starving, had barely eaten for days, and gratefully accepted his offer to break away from her home’s cold dining room, almost surprised by what looked like a simple act of kindness. 

“You needn’t be afraid, Druella,” he said so suddenly that she looked up in shock. She was unable to read the expression in his eyes. He repeated his words, and for a moment, his face softened, causing her to smile, but no longer than a split second. How many times had she heard those words before?… And how many times had they been a lie? 

She did not know when they had begun to talk. Did not know who had broken the excruciating silence after all, had no memory if she, too, had spoken. Yet she found herself listening to his words, found herself getting lost in the way he spoke, about everything and anything, and about his wife, his voice so quiet as though he were in the belief that, from far away, she was listening. 

Suddenly, however, his eyes narrowed. He looked at her with the same seriousness as he’d worn barely a week ago, the same expression that had frightened her, frightened her so much… 

“Your father,” he said, and Druella wondered what had made his thoughts leap from his wife to her father so suddenly. “How does he treat you?”

She had dreaded this question, more than anything else. Quickly she turned her head in order not to be forced to look into his eyes. “Very kindly,” she muttered, barely audible. How could she possibly tell him the truth? How could she possibly tell anyone what… 

“Don’t lie to me,” he spat now, harshly, his voice so sharp and cold that at once all her fear returned to her, so quickly as though to taunt her for being foolish enough to allow herself to forget, even if only for a moment. She held her breath, her eyes wide open with fright… But Black only sighed, nearly apologetic, although anger still marked his face. “The truth now, Druella.”

She let her silence be response enough. 

Again he sighed, seemingly deep in thought for a moment. But then he shook his head, and soon it felt as though he had never asked. As though it didn’t matter at all. Neither of them spoke another word as they finished their meal, and when he returned her to her home, Druella was barely able to suppress her relief. For one brief second, she glanced at Black and wondered ...

No. 

If only he wouldn’t agree to marry her after all… 

It was her father’s visit at night that made her forget about Black at last, forget about her secret desire, forget about the small moment in which she had felt free. It was as though he had sensed the gleam of happiness inside of her and sought to destroy it before it had the chance to fully blossom. To harshly remind her that in his eyes it was a sin to be happy, as long as he forbade it. 

_You’re mine. Always._

How much pleasure he seemed to take in controlling her, completely and utterly controlling her, in taking everything away from her… How much pleasure he seemed to take in hurting her... 

She once had loved to read, yet he had burned her books before her eyes, locking the door to his library with a spell she dared not break. She once had loved to play the piano, losing herself in the music for hours and hours until her fingers began to bleed, sometimes even longer. She had loved to practise, and yet it all had come to a sudden end one night when her father had broken her right wrist with his bare hands and then denied her proper healing for nearly a full month. How satisfied had he seemed then, watching her attempts to cope with her arm awkwardly cradled against her stomach to protect it from further injury, how cruelly had he laughed as her face contorted with pain… 

_You’re mine. Always._

Always.

*

Black’s visits were rare, yet they showed a certain regularity. It sometimes felt as though he would only come to ensure that her father had not yet killed her, but he was honourable enough never to say a word about him.

It was always the same. He would take her out to eat, each time into a different restaurant, and they’d sit opposite of one another, sometimes talking, sometimes in silence. The silence had long lost its menacing undertone, and Druella had learned to appreciate it. It could be rather soothing not to be forced to speak. But even if they did, it was always Black and hardly her; he wouldn’t ask her any questions, as if he knew very well that they’d remain unanswered. 

It was always the same when they returned home. Her father would await them at the gate when they arrived, barely deigning to look at her, yet eager to talk to Black once more, to once more attempt to begin negotiations despite the awareness that they would lead into nothing. Druella rarely had the chance to overhear their conversations, and she would gladly swallow down her curiosity for only a moment to herself before night fell. 

It was always the same. Tonight, however, something seemed different, terribly different. Tonight, the feeling of unease had returned to her. Tonight, the gate was empty. 

“Druella…”

Black seemed to sense her fear, and he quietly whispered her name, but she didn’t respond. She dared not speak, dared not look at him. She closed her eyes for a moment in a desperate attempt to tell herself that it meant nothing, that she was afraid for nothing, that perhaps Father was too drunk to remember that she had gone out, that perhaps he had already fallen asleep. 

She worried too much, she knew, but how could she not? How could she… 

“Druella,” he repeated, harsher now, and finally she looked up at him. She thought he, too, seemed concerned, but it felt as though he were attempting to hide it. 

The path to the entrance door seemed endless. Druella forced herself not to run, forced herself to focus. How ridiculous she was. How ridiculous it was to worry, even if...

She was unable, unwilling to finish her thought. Finally, she entered the house, calling out her father’s name as soon as she had taken a step into the entrance hall. Nothing. Merely her own voice echoed within her ears, over and over again, until it, too, fell silent and only the palpitating of her heart within her chest was left to hear.

What if she woke him? What would he do to her if she were to wake him from his sleep now, what would he do to her if she attempted to explain? 

When Druella reached the drawing room at last, for a split second her movements froze. She gasped for breath, her eyes wide open with fright… 

She could see him, could see her father right there on the floor, lying in a pool of blood, blood still billowing from a wound on his head, the bottle of wine still in his hands. She could see him, and yet it felt as though she were looking right through him. It felt as though what she saw wasn’t real, felt as though she were dreaming… It wasn’t real, of course it wasn’t, couldn’t possibly be real…  
All of a sudden, she lost her balance. Stumbled backward. She would have fallen had Black not caught her from behind. Quickly he wrapped his arms around her waist to give her hold, turned her around, away from the grotesque picture of her father, covering her eyes with his left hand as though he could make it unseen.

Only slowly Druella began to realise… 

“No…” she whispered, feeling her body yield to an invisible force, feeling her own breath choke her from the inside. “No!” Desperately she clung to Black’s body as though she had forgotten who he was. Nothing mattered at this moment. She clung to him like a child and he held her, held her closely, silently. His touch, his presence alone, made her feel safe. 

Father was dead. She knew that he was dead, knew that he wasn’t to be saved, had known long before she had entered the house, sensed that... 

She was free. 

Druella had never allowed herself to shed a single tear since her mother’s death, not even when she was alone with nobody to see or hear her, yet now she was incapable of holding back any longer. Her body shook with uncontrollable sobs as they came bursting out of her, and then she screamed, screamed until the pain seemed to tear her lungs apart, until hours later when darkness came to swallow her at last.

*

When she awoke, she found herself lying in her bed, tired and weak, her body still trembling. For a moment it felt as though it had been a nightmare… Yet then her memory returned to her and she remembered. Remembered everything. She remembered his face distorted with pain from what had to be a fall, remembered the sickening smell of blood and alcohol, remembered how she had lost her composure like never before and broken down in Cygnus Black’s arms when all strength had left her body.

Druella wondered whether she would ever see Black again, whether their paths would cross once more now that her father was no longer there to pull the threads, now that whatever contract they had concluded had become invalid at last, wondered what would become of… 

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered any longer. 

Sleep took her once more, before she had a chance to rise, to enter the drawing room once again. It came leaden and dreamless, overwhelming her, yet not granting her any rest. Dead. He was dead. Her father was dead, had left her behind alone, with no one to hold on to. She was free… 

As if she’d ever be free. 

“Druella.” 

Her cheeks were wet with tears when she opened her eyes and rose from her bed at last, dizzy, wondering how long she’d slept, and for a moment still in the belief that she had heard someone call her name. She would have screamed when she noticed Black standing in the doorframe, but no sound came from her lips. Instead, Druella only winced at his sight, causing him to frown. How worried he looked, she thought.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he whispered, but she only shook her head with relief. He was still here. He hadn’t left her, she wasn’t alone, he… He was still here. Druella opened her mouth to speak, but again… Nothing. It was as though she had lost her voice, but perhaps silence would soothe the pain better than anything else. Perhaps silence would be her constant companion until the end of her own life. 

It was only now that Druella realised that she was staring at Black as though he were a ghost; quickly she turned away from him, closing her eyes in shame. He was still here.

“I couldn’t possibly have left you alone,” he said, as though he had read her mind. “Not after…”

He didn’t finish his sentence. 

Of course he could have left. Of course he could have left her behind and stepped out of the door never to return again and to forget about Druella Rosier. To forget about her grief, to forget about her fate… 

He barely knew her after all, and she was nothing but a foolish girl who had lost her father, mourning the loss of a man whom she, during his lifetime, had feared more than anything else, a man who had set himself to break her, successfully. It would have been so easy to leave, so easy to forget… 

And yet he’d stayed. 

When once more tears moistened her skin, Black reached out his arm to touch her shoulder, to comfort her like he had comforted her in the moment she had found her father. And it was his touch that made her realise where she was — that she was still standing in the room that was supposed to be her shelter yet that, night by night, had turned into a hell she was unable to escape from. It was his touch that caused a sudden urge to run flare up inside of her; it was his touch that took her breath away. 

“Out,” she whispered, her voice breaking, barely audible even to her. “I’m sorry, I… Out… I need some fresh air…”

Away. Druella wanted nothing more than to get away, away from this place that would forever be haunted by her father’s ghost, wanted nothing more than to run, than to escape, to just escape… But she seemed paralysed, incapable even of taking a step forward. 

Out… 

She could still feel her father’s presence, could still smell his breath as though he were here, right here with her… She could still feel his touch, could still hear his voice, whispering into her ear. 

_Worthless._

Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? Why would he still do this to her, even in death, why would he still hurt her, still… 

_Worthless._

“I’m not worthless!” she cried now, as though it was Father standing right there beside her and not Cygnus Black, who instinctively tightened his grip around her shoulder. “I’m not worthless…”

It seemed impossible to her to hold back her sobs any longer, even if she wanted to. Once more her composure came crumbling down on her and Druella was incapable of containing herself, incapable of holding back. She didn’t care whether he thought her mad, didn’t care whether it was true or not. At this moment, she didn’t care about anything. Her father was dead. Dead and gone, and yet he was still with her, still here to torment her. When her legs ceased to carry her, Black sank to the floor with her. 

Out… 

“I’m not worthless…”

Desperately, Druella gasped for breath, struggled for air, but it felt as though she were suffocating, as though her pain were choking her. 

As if from far away she could hear Black’s voice, could hear him call her name over and over again, and yet she was unable to respond, unable even to look at him, still fighting to regain control over her breathing. 

Out!

It was oblivion that came to end the struggle, darkness that returned to her, and only when it had fully consumed her, did she gladly surrender.

*

His face was blurred, seemed so far away, almost like a phantasm, and yet it was clearer than ever before. She wasn’t dreaming, she knew, but still, everything felt so unreal to her, almost as though she had gone into a trance, a trance that took away any memory of the past days.

She had woken and fallen asleep again, had not eaten or risen, hadn’t spoken or even bothered to open her eyes. She was tired, exhausted, and yet ashamed of her weakness, ashamed that she had allowed herself to fall, to grieve, and to drown in her foolish emotion. Ashamed that the only man she had ever admired would see her in such a state. 

When had she grown to admire him? 

Druella could feel his gaze resting on her now and she sighed deeply and turned her head for a moment in an attempt to compose herself. 

“You have to forgive me, Mr Black,” she muttered, her voice strange and hoarse. How much had he done for her, and how little gratitude had she shown? How would she ever be able to repay him? How would she ever… “I…”

She broke off for a moment, and frowned. Sat up, looking around… She wasn’t lying in her own bed! This wasn’t her room! She had never seen… 

The panic began to overwhelm her, her eyes widening with fright, but Black held her back before she had a chance to rise. 

“Where am I?” She breathed, quickly forcing herself back into calmness before he could notice her fear. He wouldn’t hurt her, she knew, and even if he were to try, what would he be capable of doing to her that her father hadn’t long done? She wasn’t afraid of him any longer; for a moment it felt as though she weren’t afraid of anything. What did she still have to fear, now that her father was gone? 

“My spare bedroom,” he said, and there was no need to explain further. She’d been so desperate to get out, so desperate to leave and never look back, and he had granted her what she believed to be impossible to grant. She would have to return, she knew, soon, sooner than she liked, but what other choice did she have? The relief that at this moment was spreading inside of her would then give way to despair and the walls would crush her and at night emptiness would come to swallow her, but now, none of it seemed to matter. 

He… 

“Even though I suppose that it would be more appropriate to describe it as your own room,” continued Black, causing Druella to frown, confused. But then she understood, and she shook her head in dismay. Of course. 

“I beg you, spare me your cruelty,” she whispered, desperately attempting to hide her disappointment. What a fool she was. She had only begun to trust him, and now everything was falling apart again, but she only had herself to blame. It was her punishment for having forgotten that her father had chosen him as a spouse for a reason. Should it all have been a game, nothing but a game? Should… She dared not finish her thought, bit her lip in order to control her breathing, to suppress the anger, the sadness that flared up inside of her. What a fool she was, she thought again, what a terrible fool… 

“Druella, look at me.”

No. She would never look at him, never again, would regain the strength she had lost and leave, never to hear his voice again, never to think about him again. She’d forget him, and soon it would feel as though they had never known one another. 

As if she’d be able to forget him. As if she’d have a chance to survive, alone, as if… 

“Druella. Please.”

The sound of his voice caused her to sigh, to turn around and briefly look at him, in the expectation that he would smile her father’s cruel, triumphant smile, but he didn’t, didn’t smile at all. And in his eyes she saw sincerity. 

“You will not return to that house,” he said now, and took her hand into his, slowly, carefully, almost as though he were afraid to break her. “Not unless it is your wish.”

This wasn’t a game. He was sincere, he was… 

“You will not return to that house again,” he repeated, anger in his voice. “I can only guess what has taken place behind closed doors, but I have seen your reaction to your father’s death. I have seen the marks on your body, the bruises, the scars, enough of them to know that there are countless more hidden beneath your clothes and deep within your soul, and I have seen enough to know who did this to you. Your father was a cruel, selfish man whose crimes were atrocious, and his presence still lingers within these walls. You will not return to that house again, I will not allow that-”

“Sell it,” Druella breathed now, interrupting his words. She struggled to hold back her tears, but they did not come. She could hardly believe his words. Was it true, then? Did he care for her, truly, did he truly worry? He barely knew her, and yet… “Sell it or burn it, I won’t ever…”

She, too, broke off, shaking her head and finally rising from the bed, looking deeply into his eyes, getting lost in his gaze for a moment. And then she smiled, a tearful smile. What he had done for her... She owed him her life. Hesitantly, Druella took a step forward, reaching out her arm for him. When he came to embrace her, she no longer was able to suppress her sobs, but as she cried, she realised these ones were quiet sobs of relief.

*

She wouldn’t have to marry him he said, told her that she’d have a choice, but they both knew that it wasn’t true. Knew that she had never had a choice, that he hadn’t either, knew they would have to act quickly before the people began to talk. How kind had he been to her, she thought, treating her in a way she had never been treated before, as though she were his daughter, his child. Yet now she was to become his wife, and everything would change. Now she was to become his wife and her fear, the fear she had long forgotten about, returned to her at once.

The ceremony was brief, and Druella was glad about it, glad that Cygnus had not denied her wish. He had smiled when he saw her, despite her black dress that others had looked at so full of disdain, despite her choice not to wear any jewellery except for the simple ruby necklace she had found on her bed the day past. 

It was barely two months since her father had died, and she still found her grief overwhelming her during her weakest moments. Yet she had not allowed herself to shed more tears, had not allowed herself to break down in his presence again. Of course she knew that he noticed, no matter how desperately she attempted to hide her emotions. 

_Harden your heart, Druella. Don’t allow yourself to feel._

Night had long fallen when they returned to their home, and she could hardly suppress the trembling of her body, found herself incapable of looking into his eyes. She knew what he expected from her, knew her duty, yet dreaded the thought. 

“I won’t share your bed,” he said, and once again it felt as though he could read her thoughts. How well had he grown to know her over the past weeks… “Don’t be afraid, Ella. You’re a child…”

A child. 

“My childhood ended in the moment the smell of my father’s breath woke me from my sleep when he laid hand on me for the first time,” she whispered, her voice breaking with relief. A child… He wouldn’t share her bed, wouldn’t force her to love him… 

Perhaps she was a child still. Perhaps she was still a girl, perhaps one day… No. Of course she loved him, had learned to love him like a father, like the man she owed her life to, who would always comfort her, always give her hold, who would always be there for her when she needed him, but never like a husband. 

Cygnus sighed. He looked into her eyes and smiled sadly, briefly stroking over her hair. “Go to sleep now. You must be exhausted.”

When he turned away from her, Druella, too, smiled. He wouldn’t share her bed. Nothing would change, not now, not until she was ready, if she would ever be. Nothing would change, nothing at all… 

But perhaps it had already.

*

She still dreamed of her father. Still could see his face before her eyes as though he had never left her, as though he had only closed the door to her room behind his back after taking his pleasure, as though he were to return in a moment she was fool enough to forget.

She still screamed, still woke up trembling, and he still came to her room, still came to comfort her, still sat by her bed until she had fallen back into sleep, holding her hand as though she were a child, and not his wife. 

Sometimes, Druella could see the anger and the worry still glistening within his eyes when on the next day she caught him looking at her over breakfast and sometimes she was still too ashamed to speak. How weak she was, she thought. How incredibly weak, even now, even months later, for still allowing her father to haunt her in her dreams and when awake. 

Physically, the last wounds had long healed, had left behind nothing but scars, pale and nearly invisible to those who closed their eyes to the truth. Her entire body had healed, but not her soul. Her soul cried, silent screams of despair, yet she would do anything to silence them, even if she were to perish in the attempt. 

As though Cygnus were to be fooled so easily. 

He knew her, knew her better even than she knew herself, and no matter how desperately she tried, it seemed impossible to hide her emotions from her husband, impossible to lie to him, even if she wanted. He’d look at her, only look at her in silence, his gaze holding hers, demanding the truth, and she’d find her entire composure crumbling down, would find herself falling once more, yet now in the awareness that he was there to catch her, always. 

His age had long ceased to matter. Cygnus Black had grown to be her best friend, the rock her life was built upon, more than a father, although still not a husband. He had been there when she had believed to be alone, had shown her kindness in times of deepest despair, had given her light when she had been surrounded by nothing but darkness. 

How afraid had she been of him once, and how quickly had her fear given way to trust, nothing but blind, unconditional trust. How much he had disgusted her once, yet now she viewed him as a handsome man, no longer dreading his touch. She would never forget what he had done for her, would never forget that he had saved her, and that day by day he saved her still. 

She was a child to him. He still loved his late wife, she knew, his wife and his wife alone, noticed in the way his expression began to change when he spoke of her, noticed the sudden sadness in his voice. She was a child to him, a daughter, but never his spouse… And perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps she needed a father more than anything, more than she needed a husband, and perhaps she would never be able to love him in the way a husband deserved to be loved. 

Yet sometimes she yearned for his touch, sometimes she wanted nothing more than to feel his skin against hers, sometimes she wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around his body and drown in his embrace. And sometimes it seemed to tear her heart apart to know that he would never look at her in the way he, many years ago, had looked at another woman.

*

The fever had come overnight. Had overwhelmed her, taken all strength from her at a stroke. She was barely able to sit up in her bed, barely able to breathe, couldn’t open her eyes, not even when she could feel her husband’s presence beside her.

“Ella,” he whispered, strangely hoarse. “Drink this.”

He took her hand into his, led the phial to her lips and she swallowed, in the hope that the potion would at least bring her sleep, would at least allow her to rest. How cold it was inside of her room… Her entire body was trembling beyond her control, even when Cygnus covered her with another blanket, even when he closed the windows not to allow any warmth to escape. 

Barely a minute had passed when sleep took her, and with it came fever dreams. She could see her mother, beautiful as ever, could see her smile, reaching out her hand as though to take her with her, could see her father, smiling at her, too, so handsome with his gentle features and the warmth in his eyes that had vanished into nothing as soon as he had lost his battle against the alcohol and fully given in to its force. 

They were waiting for her, and perhaps they had been waiting too long already; they spoke to her, yet their words she could not understand. Had the same fever that had taken her mother from her come to her now? Was it time to leave, to escape from this world and to be free? Would all the pain, all the sorrow, be forgotten at last, would she be reunited with her family, would what she had longed for so desperately finally come true? Was this the end? 

She, too, reached out her hand, but at her mother’s place was nothing but emptiness. Nothing but darkness. 

He was still holding her hand when she awoke, almost as though he feared that she could leave him in the moment he let go. She opened her eyes, only for a moment, and when their gazes crossed he smiled, softly stroking over her forehead. He smiled and yet his eyes showed nothing but worry. Nothing but fear. 

She opened her mouth to speak, to talk to him, to tell him not to be afraid like he had told her so many times before, yet it felt as though the fever had taken her voice away from her. As though it were lost forever. 

Her dreams returned to her once more and soon it would no longer matter whether she woke or slept, soon she would no longer be able to tell the difference. How tired she was, how incredibly tired… Yet nothing would grant her rest, nothing at all. Nothing would take the dizziness away from her. 

Was this what it felt like to be dancing with death? 

She had no memory of when she had last eaten, had vomited every nourishment her husband had gently forced her to take in because he was afraid that starvation could take away her last strength. She had no memory of when she had last opened her eyes for longer than a minute, knew not of how long she had been her illness’ prisoner. She had no memory of how many potions he had given to her, in the hope that one of them could reduce the fever. None had shown effect, and maybe none would. 

He barely left her side, would sometimes fall asleep in his chair, yet wake barely an hour later. He spoke to her, whispered to her in a voice so hushed that it seemed to break with every word. It would be all right, he promised her, everything would be all right. Sometimes he sat down on the edge of her bed, lifted her head from her pillow and wrapped his arms around her trembling body to hold her, just hold her, cradling her to sleep like a child. 

It gave her comfort to feel him close to her, to listen to the sound of his heart beating in his chest. If only he would never let go, if only he would hold her until… 

No. No, this wouldn’t be the end, not yet, not now. Death wouldn’t take her away from him, she’d fight, fight until she had overcome the fever, fight until the end… And yet she was so tired, so incredibly tired. 

Only Cygnus could give her strength now. Only for him she would fight. 

How much she loved him… 

And what a fool she had been for denying the truth until now when it was maybe too late, now when everything was maybe too late. What a terrible fool… 

Perhaps it was only his sense of duty that was making him stay with her, perhaps it was honour that kept him from leaving her behind. Perhaps he… 

No... Impossible… She wanted to scream, to scream at the top of her lungs, wanted to scream her pain and her doubts away, but how could she? How could she possibly, if death lingered over her like a shadow, how… 

It was sleep that interrupted her thoughts, sleep that came to her so suddenly that she wouldn’t have had a chance to refuse, even if she wanted. Sleep came, and for the first time it seemed different. For the first time it was dreamless. 

When days later she awoke at last, it seemed impossible to her that she was even breathing. He was still holding her, still holding her in his arms, closer than ever before, an expression in his eyes that she could not read. 

Absently he stroked over her hair, seemed to be deep in thought, not even noticing that she was looking at him, not even noticing anything around him. 

“It will be all right…” he muttered, as though to make himself believe that it was the truth, as though he were desperate to deny that it wouldn’t be all right any more. That it had never been… “Everything will be all right…”

What a burden she was on him. Didn’t he, too, deserve happiness, hadn’t he gone through enough in his life, hadn’t he suffered enough when he’d lost his wife, hadn’t…? What a burden she was… If only she could free him. If only it would end already. 

“Don’t leave me, Ella…” she heard him whisper, and it felt as though her heart were bursting within her chest. “Please…”

Was she more than a child to him after all? Had she been blind, unable to see what was no longer hidden, had her selfishness… ?

Was she more than a child to him? More than… 

How much she wanted to tell him; how desperately she wanted to promise him that she wouldn’t leave, never; how desperately she wanted to comfort him, to repeat his words, to tell him that it would be all right… 

Nothing would be all right. Nothing at all. It was too late… 

Slowly, she lifted her head, wanting to speak, to whisper into his ear, to break the silence that seemed to suffocate her… But he carefully pushed her back, looking at her, just looking at her, the fear written on his face. And when their gazes crossed at last, he seemed to understand. Placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and then… Then another one on her lips, so tender, so affectionate, that for a moment she forgot about everything, even her illness… 

She fell asleep smiling, and dreamed of him. Dreamed of a future as husband and wife, dreamed of happiness. How much she loved him. In her dreams, she spoke the words, over and over again, screamed them out for the entire world to hear, and she was heard. In her dreams, he smiled, too, and the sadness vanished from his eyes. 

She wasn’t alone, never again. He was with her, would be with her forever … How lucky she was, she thought, how incredibly lucky to know that if she were to die now, it would be in his arms. 

And yet she wanted to live… 

The fever still clung to her, as though it would never let go, as though it would never allow her to escape. And then slowly, it pulled her back into nothing but agony, nothing but darkness, nothing but nightmares. She could still feel his presence, could still see him, see him right before her eyes… He was here… 

He was here, he was leaning over her, he was kissing her… 

His kiss tasted of tears.

**Author's Note:**

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